


And I'll fall, and I'll break.

by ofdaffodilsandmoonlight



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Character Study, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Sol has Feelings He Doesn't Want, but whats new, in advance I am sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofdaffodilsandmoonlight/pseuds/ofdaffodilsandmoonlight
Summary: The doctor is dying.
Relationships: Doc/Sol, Soc - Relationship, doc and Sol
Kudos: 2





	And I'll fall, and I'll break.

The doctor coughed weakly. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. 

He breathed those last words, a faint smile pulling the last bit of life up into his eyes, which lingered on Sol until he died. 

Sol was hunched over the doctor, kneeling at his side, one hand fisted in the grass, the other caressing the back of his head just above the nape. His fingers were cold against the still warm scalp. 

His expression had turned from one of panic and urgency to one of inexplicable pain just after the doctor had admitted his satisfaction with being near Sol as he was dying. Specifically. Of all people. 

It wasn’t a pain Sol had ever dealt with. Being called ‘sunshine’ never made his chest burn, never made his eyes burn and blur either, never made it hard to breathe, until then.

He stared as the life left the doctor and tears blended with the blood smeared across his own face. Blended like the confusion and denial and the downright need for things to be different. For Steve to be okay. For the damage to be undone. His stare fell to the beaten up armor, to the open wound, and he forced his breath to stay in his throat like he was afraid of what would happen if he let it out. 

His arms trembled. 

Eventually, Sol couldn’t hold the breath in, and it pulled itself out in the form of a tense, shaking sob. Almost completely silent. 

That night he’d down a bottle of the strongest drink he could get his hands on and start at cleaning his armor in a futile attempt to distract himself. He’d shake again with the evening cold, and the first warmth he’d pull to mind was Doc’s. His smile. How he focused, how he rested, how he walked. And Sol would hold his breath again, and the uncomfortable burn behind his nose would surface once more as the alcohol threw him headfirst into a fight with the instability he’d always carried. He knew it would come back to knock him out. The least he could do was go out with a bang. 

The scream was unfiltered. There was no restraint in any of the sobs. 

He’d never asked for a home. He’d never asked for kindness or hospitality. He knew that because he could- if after so much effort, at that- get those things with façades. But he hadn’t done a damn thing to get here, and he certainly hadn’t asked to fall in love. 

That, alone, had been a dream.

Love was a distant concept that Sol had sometimes hoped for, played with the idea of. He never thought he was truly capable of more than lust, more than greed, or wrath, or mediocrity. 

But this place and the man he loved were above all that, and he loved them. And he hated himself for every second of it. 

Sol ended up clutching at his hair, heels digging into the dirt as he pushed himself against the side of the house where he sat. He screamed through his arms in anguish. In fear, with no idea how to carry on. In defeat. 

In love.


End file.
